My Precious One
by Rachel Lyse Brook
Summary: Sherlock has just lost the blind old woman to the bomber in The Great Game. Why is he so upset? Missing Scene. Rating because of death.


**A/N: Hello there again! This is an old idea that my sister and I came up with a while back. We were both wondering why Sherlock looked so distraught after the old woman (one of Moriarty's "voices") was killed. My later theory was that he saw in his mind, not the blind old woman. No. Rather, he saw Mrs. Hudson.**

**And here are the fruits of that idea.**

**Enjoy.**

**Warning: Sherlock is slightly OOC**

**Disclaimer: I am in no way making money off of this. Sherlock does not belong to me, Moffat, Gatiss and ACD do, and the song My Precious One belongs to Celine Dion.**

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><p>"Hello."<p>

"Help Me!"

"Tell us where you are. Address."

"He was so… His voice…"

"No! No, no. Don't tell me anything about him! Nothing" _No! NO! NO! DON'T!_

"It was so soft—BOOM!"

A dial tone whined in Sherlock's ears, but he barely heard it.

"Hello!"

Distantly, he heard Lestrade was calling his name and John asking what happened, but he didn't register either of them. Rather he slumped slowly back into Lestrade's chair, phone lying limply in his hand. He felt John's hand rest on the back of his chair, but didn't say a word.

She was dead.

The Bomber had killed her.

But worst still, Sherlock had failed her. He hadn't been able to stop her from describing him.

_Martha..._

Sherlock abruptly rose to his feet and walks past John. Distantly, he hears John calling his name again, but he doesn't explain. He mechanically pulls on his coat, but does not close it, nor does he wrap his scarf around his neck.

Every step he takes gets progressively faster. He has to get back. Back to _her._

He can hear John's voice and the doctor's footsteps trying to keep up, and Sherlock doesn't care.

As soon as he gets out of Scotland Yards, Sherlock runs.

* * *

><p>Mrs. Hudson was rearranging her flat.<p>

Not that it was dirty or anything.

It was more to keep herself occupied so she wouldn't go upstairs to 221B and rearrange the boys' room.

She knew Sherlock wouldn't keep it clean, and she had expected John to at least keep a cleaner home. Though she would never be mad at John about that, he was, after all, making sure that Sherlock didn't get hurt while dashing about London.

She smiled slightly as she picked up Sherlock's skull and set it down carefully into a new hiding spot.

_Knock. Knock._

Mrs. Hudson frowned at the sound. It was late and last she checked the boys weren't home, (not that Sherlock ever knocked when he comes to visit her). Who could be at her door?

Better yet, how did they get in?

Mrs. Hudson cautiously approached the door, slipping her phone into her hand and pulling up Sherlock's number. After taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

…and came face to face with a disheveled and out-of-breath Sherlock.

"Sherlock?" She was confused. Something was obviously wrong. The tall man looked as if he had been emotionally hit by a train, his usually bright stormy eyes sad and decollate.

"Martha…" he breathed, his breath hitching as her name escaped his lips.

"What is it? What happened, Sherlock?" A line appearing between her worried eyes.

"I—" He's voice brakes this time and his legs failed him, forcing him to slump against her door jam.

Mrs. Hudson grabs the young man's hand and pulls him into her flat, kicking the door shut. She pulls him to her small couch and sits him down. She debates for a moment whether or not to make tea, but decides against it, seeing Sherlock's distraught face so close. She sits beside him and takes his hands in hers. His gloves and scarf are curiously missing, and his hands are cold.

"Sherlock, tell me what happened, dear." She urged softly to him.

His face was hard to read, but she knew something had to be wrong. His lips were taught, and he never called her by her first name unless something was really wrong.

"I solved the case." He said simply.

She gripped his hands tighter. _Shouldn't this be a good thing?_

"But I couldn't save the victim." And suddenly, everything was gushing out of the Consulting Detective. "She started to describe the bomber…and…and he… he…" Tears were now streaming out of his eyes. "He_ killed _her."

His last statement came out in a pained whisper and it sent shivers down Mrs. Hudson's spine. Never before had she ever seen Sherlock so distraught, never before had she ever seen him truly cry.

Without a second thought, she reached out and pulled the young man into an embrace, resting his face into her shoulder and running her hands soothingly though his black hair.

_Sherlock has seen a lot of death_, she told herself. _What makes this so different? Why is losing this woman breaking his heart?_

She soon gets her answer.

"And when I heard a gunshot on the other end… I saw you…"

Martha Hudson froze, old memories, ones she never wanted to see again, coming to the front of her mind. She pushed them resolutely away. She needed to be here for Sherlock, for her boy.

Sherlock was now crying openly, sobs tearing though his chest.

Martha began to rock back in forth, small shushing escaping her lips, trying calm the Consulting Detective as she would a baby, a young child who woke from a nightmare screaming.

And soon the shushing became humming, and soon a lullaby.

_"My precious one, my tiny one, lay down your pretty head._

_My dearest one, my sleepy one, it's time to go to bed._

_Just lie your head and give your cares to me._

_Just close your eyes and fall into the sweetest dream, _

_cause in my loving arms, you're safe as you will ever be_

_So hush, my dear and sleep."_

As she sung, Sherlock's sobs began to decrease but he still clung to her, as if scared to let go, lest he loose her.

_"My precious one, my darling one,_

_Don't let your lashes weep._

_My cherished one, my weary one_

_It's time to go to sleep_

_Just bow your head and give your cares to me._

_Just close your eyes and fall into the sweetest dream._

'_Cause in my loving arms, you're safe as you will ever be_

_So hush my dear and sleep."_

She could feel Sherlock's breath slowing under her arms, becoming deeper and relaxed. She smiled and continued to sing.

"_And in your dreams you'll ride on angels' wings._

_Dance with the stars and touch the face of God…_

_And if you should awake, my precious one, my tiny one,_

_I'll kiss your little cheek,_

_And underneath the smiling moon,_

_I'll sing you back to sleep."_

By this time, he was slack in her arms. Smiling to herself, she lifted him slightly from her shoulder and kissed his cheek. Then moving carefully, so as to not wake the young man, she pulled his coat and his suit jacket off and lay him down on the couch. She then pulled off his shoes. Once satisfied, she quickly went and brought a blanket and tucked Sherlock in.

She kissed the self-proclaimed "Sociopath" gently on the head, hoping that he would get some rest.

And prayed that this case would turn out well in the end, she didn't want to see Sherlock or John, her boys, falling to pieces.

**A/N: and there you have it. I hope you enjoyed it! Review are most welcome! :D**

**PS: According to the original Sherlock Holmes by ACD, Mrs. Hudson's first name is Martha.**


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